It was so realistic, so accurate. It looked like a photo, right down to a freckle I have on my shoulder.
I knew Adam had painted it, but why?
Seth’s eyes narrowed, staring at me with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him.
“You’re acting strangely. I don’t know what to make of what’s going on. You can barely walk. Are you that upset about Helen? Is it a physical thing? Do you feel sick?”
“I just saw something that confused me on that wall, that’s all,” I said, my voice low and shaky.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Charlotte?” He wasn’t angry; he was just trying to be empathetic.
It was hard for me to look him in the eye as I began the story so I focused on a manhole in the middle of the street. “About seven months ago, I met a guy.” I hesitated.
“Continue,” he said, a twinge of worry in his voice.
“I met him on the street. I went home with him and we had a very strange but special experience. Or so I thought.”
“Let’s find a bench and sit down. I really have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
We were now sitting against the wall where the mural was painted.
“I’m trying to tell you without making myself sound like a slut.”
“I don’t think you’re a slut, Charlotte. Just tell me the story.”
“I met a guy on the street. It was a whirlwind night. I went back to his loft. He was a painter. There were paintings everywhere. We had . . . sex, a whole bunch of sex.”
Seth swallowed. “Okay, so what?”
“At some point in the night, he asked me if we were in love, like we were role-playing or something, and I told him this story that we were together and that we had met in front of Starry Night at the Getty. It’s hard to explain, but it made sense in the moment.”
“I thought they had Irises at the Getty?”
“No, Munch’s Starry Night, not Van Gogh’s.”
“Oh. And . . . ?”
I pointed with my thumb behind me. “That was the story I told him. And today, just now, I discovered he painted a giant mural of it. I pass this wall all the time; it wasn’t here before.”
Seth turned around and looked at the mural. “It’s beautiful.” Then he looked back at me. “So, what happened?”
“I kind of fell for him that night, but he acted weird in the morning and accused me of being a liar. It was all very strange. Like I said, I thought we were just role-playing or something.”
Seth swallowed. There was a long, uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between us. We both turned around and sat there staring at the mural for a long time.
After what felt like hours, Seth turned to me. “I’m gonna walk you home now, Charlotte. I think you should be alone to think about this. I’m not judging you at all, but you seem really affected right now, and it’s been a long day for you.”
The idea of being alone terrified me, and I wondered if I was scaring Seth away. In fact, I knew I was. But I also wanted to do nothing but stare at the mural all night long.
We stood up. The little crosswalk symbol went on, motioning for us to walk. Seth grabbed my hand, and I looked down at my hand in his. I looked up to his face. He smiled. “I’m a good guy,” he said. “I’m taking you home because your mental state concerns me. You seem really troubled. Maybe you need to call him, Charlotte. Get some resolution. Find out why he painted this mural seven months after he kicked you out of his apartment.”
“You’re right,” I said, but I had no idea how I would find his number.
“I like complicated girls,” Seth said, out of the blue, as we walked back to my apartment. “I like challenges and I like interesting people. That’s why I was attracted to your profile. And then the other night I could just tell. That’s why I’m here now. But you need to work this thing out, whatever it is you’re going through. I don’t want to pry. We don’t know each other that well and I already feel like I’ve invaded your space tonight.”
“Not at all, Seth. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been alone when I saw that mural. But I do need to get home.”
Once we were at my door, Seth leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “Do you want to come to my game tomorrow? We can talk this out afterward.”
“Okay,” I told him, but I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to go.
When I opened the door to my apartment, Chucky was sitting at the counter, eating cereal. “Yay! Fatbutt’s here!” he shouted through a mouthful.
“You still have a key?”
“You left it unlocked, dipshit.”
Growing up, my brother looked like that kid on the cover of MAD magazine but with black hair. I still saw him that way, even though as a grown man he now looked like Jake Gyllenhaal. Yes, girls liked him, but he was arrogant and he had impossibly high standards.
“Are you eating my cereal?”
“I don’t eat that sugary crap,” he said.
None of his belongings were lying around. I walked back into Helen’s room and saw that Chucky had moved all of his stuff in and unpacked in the two hours I was gone. His room was perfectly tidy. With wide eyes, I appraised him as I walked back toward the kitchen.
He looked up at me. “What?”
“It’s clean.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Charlotte.”
I opened the refrigerator in search of a snack and discovered hummus, yogurt, and a bowl of quinoa, along with a very expensive bottle of Champagne.
“What’s all this?”
“I just made the quinoa; it’s in there cooling. I’m thinking of making a quinoa and feta salad with olives tomorrow. And the Champagne is for you, my sweet, loving sister.”
“Really, Chucky?”
“Will you call me Charles from now on? I don’t really go by Chuck.”
I leaned over and glared into his eyes. “Who are you and why are you wearing my brother like a suit?”
“Cut the shit, Charlotte.” That was a commonly used phrase in my house growing up. I was a bit of a drama queen as a kid.
“Okay, brother. I will open my figurative, though not my real arms, to this new version of you. I hope it lasts. And thanks for the ‘shampag-knee.’?”
“You’re so classy, Fatbutt. I’m glad we’re gonna be roomies.”
“Do you know how many years of squats I’ve done to firm up this ass?”
“Stop trying to get me to look at your butt; it’s weird and gross,” he said as he slurped up his cereal.
I smacked him in the head. “?’Kay, dork, I’m going to bed.”
“Nighty night.”
“Night.”
I didn’t even wonder why Chuck had moved in that day instead of Monday, like he said he would. Only later would I find out that Helen had called my mom out of concern, and she had told Chuck to move into my apartment that day. Guess my mom knew as well as I did that I couldn’t be alone.
I lay in bed all night and didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t get the image of the mural out of my head.
I knew I had to look for him, but where would I even begin?
12. Boy(s)